Won't Let You Live
by slaysvamps
Summary: John is searching for answers about the Demon who killed his wife. Somewhere along the way he finds a woman in need of those same answers.


Title: Won't Let You Live  
Author: slaysvamps  
Pairing: John/OFC  
Warnings: Angst, Adult Situations & Language, Shifting POV  
Stats: 7 sections, 7035 words total  
Spoilers: Pilot, Scarecrow, Salvation  
Complete: Yes.  
Disclaimer: If the Winchesters belonged to me, I think my husband would be mighty upset. Of course, if I owned the rights to Supernatural, we'd have lots more money so he might not care…  
Summary: John is searching for answers about the Demon who killed his wife. Somewhere along the way he finds a woman in need of those same answers.  
Notes: Title is from REO Speedwagon: Bein' Kind (Can Hurt Someone Sometime). Beta'd by lenastockton, my proofreading angel.

**I Prelude**

The porch light was flickering as he came to a stop in front of the house. It was the third one he'd checked that night, and as soon as he'd seen the streetlights winking in and out from three blocks away, he knew he'd hit the right one. Barely taking the time to slam the truck into park, he bolted from the vehicle.

His boot slammed into the door, opening it with one blow. He heard a woman yelling upstairs and didn't pause as he dashed through the living room past a younger man waking disoriented on the couch. His feet flew up the stairs as he silently prayed that he'd make it in time.

"Jordan!" the man on the couch shouted.

Hearing the man call for his wife in the same way he had called for his wife twenty years ago was almost too much for John to handle. As he neared the top of the stairs, he heard the whoosh of fire coming from the nursery. He knew he was too late, but he couldn't stop himself from continuing on. Steeling himself for the sight of a woman on the ceiling, he burst into the child's room.

"Caitlyn!" a woman's voice screamed above the sound of the fire.

John paused in the doorway, stunned to see that this mother was not pinned to the ceiling; instead, the crib was engulfed in fire. The child's mother was beside the crib, thrusting her hands into the fire in an effort to save her baby, but from the harsh scent of burning flesh that filled the room, it was far too late.

"Caitlyn!" her husband screamed from the hall.

The man was too much of a coward to come into the room to save his wife, but John wasn't about to stand back and watch her die. He grabbed Jordan's shoulders and pulled her away from the crib, thrusting her toward the door.

"No! My baby!" she screamed.

"It's too late," John shouted. "You have to get out, now!"

Now the husband was moving, now he grabbed his wife and dragged her toward the stairs. John stood in the doorway for a moment looking back at the crib, trying not to picture the same thing happening to his son if he'd been a little slower when the demon had come to his house so many years ago.

The demon was gone, he'd missed it yet again, and there was no reason to hang around and try to explain to the police what he'd been doing in a stranger's home. He followed the couple out of the house and kept walking. By the time the emergency vehicles arrived he'd long since disappeared into the night.

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**II In Walks Danger**

I sat in a booth near the window, looking out at the tired Sacramento street. My coffee was cold, but I shook my head when the waitress tried to refill the cup. I didn't want to stay here in this strange restaurant nursing a cold cup of coffee, but my only alternative was to go back to my hotel room, and I couldn't face the empty room, not yet.

My attention was drawn to a man in a phone booth across the street. He was tall and scruffy looking, with durable clothing, biker boots, and two days worth of stubble on his chin. He seemed familiar, but I couldn't remember where I might have seen him before. He argued with the person on the other end of the phone for several minutes before hanging up. As he left the booth, he glanced toward the restaurant and I quickly looked away before he could see that I'd been watching him.

A few minutes later the bell above the door rang. Looking up I saw the same man walking into the restaurant. His eyes touched every face in the place as if he was looking for someone. My heart started to pound when his eye fell on me. He looked dangerous, and I'd had enough of danger in my life.

I watched him walk across the room, studied every stride, every movement of his body, and with every step he took I prayed that he'd pass me by. He didn't.

"Jordan Shafer?" he asked in a deep voice.

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage," I replied softly.

He pulled a thin wallet from his pocket and flashed a badge. "Can I have a word with you?"

"Honestly I've had enough of conversations with the police," I sighed.

"I understand you've had it tough, ma'am," he replied. "I'll only take a minute of your time."

He had an honest face, with dimples that I found oddly charming despite the grief that shadowed the back of my mind. His eyes were dark, certain, yet somehow filled with a sorrow he tried very hard to hide. I knew what sorrow looked like, had felt it eating at my soul for weeks, ever since the night my daughter had died.

At last I nodded, and with a final glance around the room he folded himself into the bench across from me. "Can you tell me what happened the night of the fire?"

"I've already told this story," I said impatiently. "How many times do I—"

I broke off when the waitress came by with the coffee pot again. John slid an empty cup toward the edge of the table and waited while she poured the black liquid into his cup. This time when she tried to fill mine I let her, watching the steam rise as the coffee fell and mingled with the lighter mixture in my cup.

I lifted my hands from my lap and it was clear the instant he saw the burn scars on my hands. I took a sip from my cup, hoping the coffee would somehow settle my nerves. He didn't seem surprised at the evidence of my wounds, and as I sat the cup down on the table, it occurred to me where I'd seen the man before.

"You were there," I said suddenly.

"I don't know what you mean," he replied easily.

"I remember you," I told him, suddenly sure of the memory. "You were there, that night." I closed my eyes, picturing once more the room, the fire, the stranger who had saved my life. "You pulled me out of the baby's room. Why were you in my house?"

He glanced around the diner, his eyes taking in every person, even those walking by on the sidewalk. With a sigh, he turned back to me.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save your daughter," he said in a low voice.

"You're not a cop, are you?" I demanded. "Why were you there?"

"It's hard to explain," he replied, "and it's not somethin' we should discuss here."

I glanced around the restaurant, at the ordinary faces of people living ordinary lives. My life had been ordinary until I'd walked into my daughter's room that night. Looking back at the stranger across from me I studied him for a moment, wondering how much I could trust him, if I could trust him at all.

"I don't even know your name," I pointed out.

"Winchester," he replied with that charming smile. "John Winchester."

It was a good name, a strong name. My father had owned a Winchester rifle, kept it by the bed when I was a child. He said it had made him feel safe, and despite the danger I sensed from the stranger sitting across from me, he somehow made me feel safe too. "My hotel is a couple of blocks down the street. We can talk there, if you want."

He nodded and threw enough money on the table to cover the coffee.

-----------------------

John wasn't sure what he was doing, following Jordan back to her hotel room. The demon had come and gone weeks before, but if it chose to return John could be taking a risk talking to this woman. Yet Jordan was the only mother he'd been able to find that had survived an attack by the demon who had killed his wife. He had to figure out why she'd survived, hoped that the knowledge would help him when it came time to face the demon down.

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**III Demons Among Us**

I unlocked the door of my hotel room and John followed me inside. The room had been cleaned while I was out, and the only sign anyone was staying in the room was the book on the bedside table.

"We should be safe enough," he told me as he closed the door. "Your husband's gone?"

My breath caught on a laugh and it came out sounding more like a sob. "Yes," I said simply. "He left a couple of days after the fire, said he couldn't—" Michael had claimed he couldn't look at me without remembering that our daughter was dead. He couldn't deal with the grief and so he'd gone to LA, back home to his parents. "He's gone."

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Don't be." I met his eye with some effort. "It wasn't great between us before-before the fire. Caitlyn was the only thing that kept us together."

"Can you tell me what happened," he suggested.

"I'm not sure you're going to believe me. What I saw—"

"Seen a few things that didn't seem possible myself," he told me with a smile that emphasized his dimples. I'd known he'd have a charming smile, but to actually see it nearly spun me. "Trust me, I'll believe you."

"It was just like any other night," I began hesitantly, walking over to the edge of the bed to sit down. "I woke up in the middle of the night. Michael was downstairs sleeping on the couch. I went to check on Caitlyn, to make sure she was covered up because she always—" A tear fell down my cheek, sorrow eating at my soul again, and I brushed it away impatiently. Looking down at the scars on my hands I struggled to keep a firm hold on my grief. Caitlyn would never again kick off the covers in the middle of the night.

He pulled a chair close to me and sat down. "Your daughter was six months old the night of the fire, wasn't she?" he asked carefully.

I nodded, looking at him in surprise. "How did you know that?"

He just shook his head sympathetically. "Please, go on."

"I went into the baby's room," I said after a moment. My hands gripped my thighs in an effort to hide their shaking. The burns were nearly healed but even so the pressure of pushing against my legs was enough to make them ache. "A man was in her room, but it wasn't Michael. I tried to scream, but it turned and looked at me. Its eyes were yellow, like they were on fire, and suddenly I couldn't breathe."

John's eyes were intent on my face, weighing my words, my emotions. "What happened?" he coaxed gently.

I looked up into his deep brown eyes, eyes so dark that I nearly couldn't tell where the iris ended and the pupil began. For a moment the creature's yellow eyes flashed across my mind, a sight that would forever be burned into my mind.

"I was thrown back against the wall near the door," I told him. "Something fell into my hands, and suddenly I could move again. I—" My voice broke as I remembered the taste of fear in my mouth, the smell of burning flesh.

John frowned and leaned forward. "What?" he asked urgently. "What happened?"

Before I could answer the lights began to flicker.

"We need to leave, now." he growled, his eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal.

"What is it?" I asked, worried at the change in him. For weeks I'd lived in fear that the demon that had killed my daughter would come back, and from the tension in John's body, there was every chance it was happening now.

At that moment there was a pounding on the door. We both stood and looked toward the sound. "Open the door, John," a man called from just outside. "We know you're in there."

"Damn it," he cursed softly.

"You can't protect her, John," the man continued. "Just like you can't protect your boys. They're looking for you, leaving a trail bright enough for anyone to follow. If you give yourself up now, we won't have to kill them too."

John grabbed a hold of my hand and pulled me toward the bathroom without answering. Despite the strength of his grip, he was careful not to squeeze my still sensitive skin. As he shut the bathroom door, we heard the main door of the room give way.

He grabbed a small pouch of bath salts from the counter and opened it quickly. I watched as he spread it in a thin line along the bottom of the door. "That should hold them for a couple of minutes," he said with a short nod.

Though I didn't understand how salt could keep the danger at bay, I was willing to trust this man, for now.

"It's no use trying to run, Jordan," the man called to us from the main room. "John Winchester can't save you from us; we're going to slit your throat."

John ignored the taunts and opened the bathroom window. He stuck his head out and looked around quickly. "It's a drop, but we can make it, come on."

I took his hand and let him hand me out the window as someone, or some thing, began pounding on the bathroom door. He lowered me as far as he could and I dropped heavily to the ground, landing badly on one ankle. I heard the sound of wood breaking as I hurried to get out of the way and a moment later John dropped down beside me.

"Come on," he hissed.

Doing my best to ignore the pain in my ankle, I hurried after him, still not sure why we were running. We'd barely gone twenty feet when he jerked me close to his side and pulled a hand gun from beneath his jacket. He turned his body to put me behind him and aimed the gun at a woman who was coming at us quickly. Even ten yards away I could see that her eyes were entirely black.

The gun in John's hand roared three times, sending bullets flying into the woman's chest, through her heart. She barely jerked at each impact and kept coming. With an arm around my waist, John half pulled, half carried me away down the street.

"Get in," he barked as we reached the driver's side of a big black pick up.

I reached for the door handle as he turned and fired again. Somehow I managed to open the door and climb inside, moving over so that he could slide into the driver's seat. With a turn of the key the engine growled to life and a moment later we were speeding away.

"You okay?" he asked as he slid the gun back beneath his coat.

I nodded, but I had to clear my voice before I could speak. "You shot her and she just kept coming. What the hell was she?"

"A demon," he answered tersely, checking the mirrors, "or a woman possessed by one."

"What now?"

"Now we get out of the city," he replied, watching the street behind us.

"And go where?" I ran a hand through my hair nervously. "They're just going to find us, kill us."

"Not if we're careful," he insisted. "Not if we kill 'em first."

"How are we supposed to do that?" I demanded.

He checked the mirrors again, driving quickly through traffic and taking us far away from my hotel. "I'm workin' on that."

-----------------------

John wasn't sure where he was going, or why he'd decided to take Jordan with him, but he had too many questions left unanswered to walk away from her just yet. As he drove away from Sacramento, John was thankful he'd taken the time to call his boys before he'd walked into that diner. He hoped that they'd follow his order to stop looking for him, but he was no longer sure they'd obey him blindly. Dean was better at listening to his old man, but Sam was with him, and if John said the sky was blue, Sam would be bound to argue the point.

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**IV Escape**

We sped off into the afternoon sunshine, silence filling the cab. I found myself wondering just what I'd gotten into, if I was better off alone than with this dangerous man with sorrow filled eyes. Then I remembered how he'd saved my life not once but twice. He'd known that demons couldn't cross salt; maybe he could teach me more about how to protect myself from the creatures.

"Jordan, I need to know what happened in the nursery before I got there," he said after a bit. "Now, you said something fell into your hands, what was it?"

I thought for a moment, sifting through the jumble of painful memories I had of that night. "It was a plaque," I said softly. "I was pinned to the wall but as soon as I grabbed hold of it I could move again."

"Then what?"

"I held the plaque toward it," I whispered as I fought my grief. "I'll never forget the way it looked at me. It wasn't human, I swear it wasn't. It shrank back a little, like it was afraid. It looked at me and said that if it couldn't have Caitlyn I couldn't either and then-and then the crib just caught fire."

"What was on the plaque?" he demanded. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and for the first time I noticed a wedding ring on his left hand. "What was it made of?"

"I've thought about this a lot," I said softly. "I was pinned against the wall and suddenly I could move again. It had to have been the pentacle my friend Denise made for Caitlyn." I remembered my friend telling me she'd put herbs and stones into the clay, but couldn't remember exactly what she'd made it with.

"A pentacle," he murmured. "You sure?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure. Why does it matter? I could move, but I couldn't stop the thing from killing my baby. I tried to get to her, but—" My voice broke as I remembered reaching for her, reaching into the fire. "I remember the fire, the pain, and someone grabbed me, pulled me away. You pulled me away." I looked down at my hands, at the scars still livid on my skin. "You pushed me into the hall and Michael took me outside." My husband had taken me out onto the lawn, held me down when I'd tried to get back in the house.

"You couldn't have saved her, Jordan," he said gently. There was a great deal of sympathy in his eyes when I looked up into them.

"Do you know what it was?" I demanded. "Was it a demon, like those at my hotel?"

"Yeah, a demon," he replied gravely, "but stronger than the ones we faced today."

"How do you know that?" I wiped unshed tears from my eyes. "How did you know it would come to my house?"

"There are signs, portents," he told me. "Twenty two years ago it came to my house." I could see the open wounds in his eyes, pain just as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. "My son was six months old that night. You're lucky you survived, Jordan. My wife didn't."

"But your son lived?" I asked softly.

"Yeah, he's fine," he replied with a hint of his charming smile. "Both my boys grew up strong. Mary'd be proud."

"I'm sorry about your wife," I whispered. Then I remembered something the demons had said. "They said that they'd kill your sons. Do you have a way to warn them?"

He glanced over at me. "I've already done what I can, but they won't be safe until this demon is dead. None of us will be."

"Then we'd better find a way to kill the bastard," I replied evenly.

He said nothing for a long time. I could see the tension in his shoulders ease as we got further and further away from the city, and once he left the express way he glanced over at me. "We need to go over what happened again."

"I've already told you, John," I replied tiredly. "What good would it do to go over it again?"

"It's important, Jordan," he insisted.

"You're hunting this thing, aren't you?" I asked softly, suddenly very sure of my words. "You're trying to get revenge for what happened to your wife."

He sighed softly. I could see his hands clenched on the wheel, his knuckles white. "I've been huntin' it for years. Mary wasn't the first mother this demon killed." His voice was tense, like a string pulled so tight it was about to break. "She wasn't the last. It's happened more than a dozen times that I know of, all across the country, and always on the child's six month birthday."

"I know."

He turned and gave me a probing look. "What do you know?"

"Denise told me," I replied as evenly as I could. "She said that there were signs the demon was coming, electrical storms, cattle deaths, that these things were happening across the country. She pointed them out to me, told me about some of the women who'd died before she—"

When I said nothing more, he looked back to the road ahead. "What happened?"

"She was in a car accident," I said sadly, trying not to let my grief over her death overwhelm me. "The last one Denise knew about was six months ago, in Palo Alto, but the woman who died, Jessica Moore—" I broke off when I saw the look on his face. "Did you know her?"

He shook his head sadly. "No, but it was the same demon."

"Winchester," I murmured, trying very hard to remember what Denise had told me. "The apartment was leased to Sam Winchester," I said after a few minutes. "Is that your son?"

At first I thought he wasn't going to answer. His mouth tightened grimly, and I could see grief in his eyes, and worry for his family. "Yeah," he breathed at last.

I wasn't sure what to say. I knew from experience that condolences never helped the ache inside, the pain of losing loved ones. Silence filled the cab, heavy with sorrow. I turned to look out the window, unwilling to feel John's sorrow as well as my own.

I was tired, more than tired. It had been weeks since I'd really allowed myself to sleep, weeks of worrying that the demon would come for me before I woke up. I hadn't felt safe since the night of the fire, but here in this truck with a dangerous stranger at the wheel, I felt safe enough to let the passing miles soothe me into sleep.

-----------------------

Jordan was a surprise. The death of her daughter and the desertion of her husband hadn't broken the woman. Even the death of her friend and wounds on her hands hadn't seemed to slow her down. He was amazed that anyone else had tracked the demon through Palo Alto. John was impatient to find out what else she knew, but he hoped there would be time enough for that later. Now he had to concentrate on getting them as far away from the city as possible, and make sure they weren't followed. He pushed the worry for his sons to the back of his mind and drove into the fading afternoon light.

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**V Safe Haven**

I woke alone in silence. Night had fallen, and from the looks of things the truck was parked in front of a motel. I could see John inside the office through the windows, handing over a credit card to the clerk. A glance around didn't tell me much more than that we were far from the city, in some backwater town that didn't see much traffic. I ran my hands through my hair and leaned over to get a look at myself in the rear view mirror.

My shoulder length brown hair was a mess despite the finger combing I'd given it. There were dark shadows beneath my green eyes, but no trace of makeup anywhere on my skin. My lips were dry and I was both thirsty and hungry.

I jumped when John opened the driver's door.

"I got us a cabin," he said without preamble as he got into the truck. As he started it, he added, "We should be safe enough, tonight."

"Where are we?"

He backed the truck out of the parking space and turned it toward the rear of the motel. "Couple of hours out of Sacramento. How you holding up?"

"Okay, I think," I replied. "A little hungry."

"We'll get something soon." He pulled up in front of the most remote of the cabins and killed the engine. "It'll take us a couple of minutes to get settled in, make the cabin safe."

I nodded and opened my door while he did the same. Letting myself slide from the truck I was surprised when the foot I landed on wouldn't take my weight. The ankle collapsed beneath me and the ground came up more quickly than I could handle. I found myself lying in a heap beside the truck.

"Jordan," John called urgently as he hurried around the truck. "What's wrong?"

"My ankle," I gasped as pain shot up my leg. "I think I twisted it earlier."

His hands were strong on my leg as he crouched beside me, pushing up my jeans and exploring the swelling around my ankle. "Why didn't you say anything about this before?" he barked.

"I don't know," I growled back. "I guess I thought it was more important to get away from the demons than to stop for first aid."

Without warning he scooped me into his arms. I grabbed onto his shoulders as he stood up, half afraid he'd drop me but as it turned out I needn't have worried. The muscles beneath my hands told me he was more than strong enough to carry me. He sat me down on my good foot long enough to unlock the door before picking me up again and taking me inside. He laid me down on the bed and straightened.

"Don't move," he ordered as he turned for the door.

I sat up and pushed the pillows up against the headboard before sliding upward to rest back against them so I could look around. There was only one bed in the cabin. A fireplace took up most of one wall, and there was a bathroom on the far end of the room. A table and two chairs took up one corner, and a dresser sat against one wall, but the bed filled most of the room.

John walked back in with a gallon tin that had 'salt' written on the side of it in one hand and a large duffel bag in the other. He closed and locked the door, then opened the tin and poured a thick line of salt along the doorjamb.

"Will that really keep them out?" I asked softly.

"It'll keep 'em out," he replied firmly, moving to the window and pouring another line across the sill. He laid a line of salt in front of the fireplace before moving into the bathroom. Once all the entrances were covered, he capped the tin and grabbed the ice bucket from the table. "I'll be right back," he barked. "Don't try to walk."

"John—" My words were cut off by the sound of the door closing. I hit the bed in frustration, then moaned as the pain reminded me that my skin hadn't quite healed. As much as I wanted to follow John, I knew my ankle wouldn't hold me. I had no choice but to stay here and wait for him to return. I tried not to think about what might happen if he didn't come back.

To my relief he opened the door a few minutes later, carrying a full ice bucket. He wrapped some ice in a towel from the bathroom and carefully removed my shoe and sock before gently placing the towel on my ankle.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, thanks." I glanced toward the salt laying on the window sill. "Are we safe here?"

"For now." He rummaged around in one of the bags he'd put on the table, then carried a large handgun back over to the bed. "Do you know how to use this?" When I shook my head no, he said, "It's simple, point and shoot." He turned the gun slightly, demonstrating as he continued. "This is the safety. Turn it off before you try to fire. Just point it at your target and keep pulling the trigger, you got it?"

"Yeah." With trembling hands I took the gun from him and laid it on my lap.

"When I come back I'll knock twice, then three times." His face was deadly serious. "If anyone but me comes through that door, you shoot first and ask questions later."

"Okay."

"If I'm not back by mornin', you get out of here, all right? Go and don't look back."

I nodded, but there was a numbness creeping into my soul. I couldn't go home, there was no home to go to. I wouldn't risk putting my friends in danger. If John didn't come back, I had nowhere to go.

He reached out and touched the side of my face lightly, prompting me to look up at him. "I'll be back, Jordan." Without another word he walked out of the cabin. I heard the truck start, then the sound of it pulling away.

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John knew he should leave, just pack up his things and hit the road instead of going out for food. Stopping this close to Sacramento was dangerous; hell just being with the woman waiting for him in that hotel room was dangerous. It wasn't like Jordan knew anything he didn't, or had any leads on the thing that had killed his wife. He was sure there must have been something more to the plaque Denise had made than a simple pentacle but there was no way of knowing now that the woman was dead.

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**VI For Loves Lost**

Thirty minutes after John had left I heard the truck return. It parked close to the cabin and the engine died. Gripping the gun tightly to stop my hands from shaking I held my breath and waited to see if John would open the door or if it would be something else, something not quite so friendly.

Two hard knocks beat on the door, followed by three more. I blew out the breath I'd been holding and forced my fingers to relax on the gun as John opened the door. His eyes scanned the room and he smiled when he saw me put the safety back on the gun.

He'd brought food with him, and as I laid the gun beside me on the bed I realized just how hungry I was. We didn't talk much while we ate, but it was a companionable silence. Once we were done eating, he took away the remains of the take out containers and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Jordan, I need to know what your friend told you before she died."

"She didn't tell me much," I said after a moment. "Denise knew a lot about the occult. She said that there have been a string of fires since April, half a dozen or more, everywhere from New Jersey to California. Houses burned to the ground on the child's six month birthday. Palo Alto was the only place an infant wasn't involved."

"More than a dozen," he corrected. "Nearly twice that many in the last thirty years. You're right about the electrical storms and cattle deaths, but there are also temperature fluctuations, crop failures and other signs during the week before the fires."

"Denise called me the day of her accident," I told him. "She said she'd found a link between what had happened to Caitlyn and an ancient cult. She was on her way to meet me when she-when she died."

His eyes burned into mine. "Did she say what cult?"

"No, she didn't want to tell me over the phone, she said it wasn't safe," I replied. "When I heard about her accident I ran, changed hotels, sold my car. I thought that no one could find me, but you did."

"It's what I do," he said with a smile.

"Do you have any idea what this demon wants?" I asked. "Why it's killing people?" When he didn't answer, I reached out and put my hand on his arm. The warmth of his skin surprised me. It made him seem more human somehow, vulnerable.

"Doesn't matter what it wants," he murmured, looking at me with hard eyes. "I'm gonna find it and kill it."

I let my hand fall away from his arm. "It took my daughter and your wife," I said softy. "You said it's killed at least a dozen, how many of those were children?"

"Only two." He gave me a level look. "You're the only mother that has survived."

I stared at him in surprise. "Because of the pentacle?"

"I don't know," he murmured. "You were pinned to the wall, you said, but you could move once you held it?"

"Yeah, I could," I admitted, putting a hand to my stomach, remembering the burn of the slash on my skin.

He frowned at my movement. "What is it?"

Taking a breath, I slid down a little in the bed and pulled up the bottom of my shirt to show him the thin scar that went across my stomach. It started just under my ribs on the right side and ended at my left hip bone. "Whatever it was about the pentacle, it didn't protect me completely."

He turned on the bed to get a closer look. "Well," he whispered as his hand reached out, stopping just short of my skin. A moment later I felt his fingers settle lightly onto my stomach, running down the length of the scar. "It could have killed you. You were damned lucky."

The touch of his hand sent warmth along my spine, and I tried not to think of what had happened to his wife, to his son's girlfriend. "I know."

His hand moved away and I saw an old hurt on his face, a deep wound that had never fully healed. The pain told me that he hadn't gotten over his wife's death, hadn't found a way to fill the hole she'd left in his heart.

He stood and walked to the windows, turning his back to hide his pain. I wanted to go to him, to put my hand on his shoulder, to hold him, but I knew he wouldn't welcome my touch and nothing I did would make anything any better. His wife was gone, just like my daughter was gone. Some wounds never healed.

"I'm sorry about your hands," he said without turning around. "I'm sorry I didn't get there in time to save your daughter."

I looked down at the scars on my skin through a veil of tears. "I'd willingly give my hands to have her back." My voice was shaking with pain, but there was no help for it. John's grief had wakened mine, and I rolled to my side, burying my face in a pillow to stifle the sound of my sobs.

He stood near the window and listened to me cry. It may seem heartless that he just stood there and did nothing to comfort me, but it wasn't. I was crying for both of us, for my daughter and his wife, for all the women the demon had killed, for the lives that might have been if these things had never happened. I cried because he couldn't, and for him to stand there listening to me weep without moving was the bravest thing I'd ever witnessed.

When my sobs had subsided, I felt his soft touch on my ankle, adjusting the ice pack. I slid into sleep secure in the knowledge that he'd watch over me, protect me until I woke.

-----------------------

John watched Jordan sleep, envying the ease with which she'd gone under. He knew it would be impossible for him to sleep this night, with the memories of Mary's death fresh in his mind. Bad enough that his wife had died burning on the ceiling, but the reminder that his son's girlfriend had died in the same way was nearly enough to make him lose his mind. Not that Mary and Jessica were the first women the demon had killed, or the last. The damn thing would have taken Jordan too, if John hadn't been there. He wondered if she would thank him for that if he asked, or if she'd curse him for not saving her daughter. With a sigh he kicked off his boots and stretched out on top of the blankets, staying as far as he could get from the sleeping woman on the bed.

-----------------------

**VII Nightmares and Dreams**

I woke hours later gasping for air. My hands were burning as if they'd just been pulled from the fire and I couldn't choke back the panicked sounds that fell from my lips. Strong arms went around me, pulling me close to a warm chest. I fought against it for a moment before I realized who was holding me.

"Shh," John breathed against my hair. "It's okay, sweetheart. You're safe."

I couldn't stop from clutching at him. My whole body was shaking and I couldn't seem to control it. The lingering vestiges of my dream kept running through my mind and it was only his hands moving on my back and his soothing voice in my ear that brought me back to the present.

I'm not sure when his touch went from soothing to arousing, but I didn't really care. His kiss was soft and warm, offering a solace I hadn't found anywhere since my daughter had died and my husband had left me.

It wasn't perfect, our fumblings in the dark. In fact it was awkward and slow at first as we struggled to move the blanket out from between us and remove our clothes. It had been nearly a year since I'd known a lover's touch, and from his hesitation I'd have said it had been much longer for him. Remembering the way he spoke about his wife I was willing to bet I was right.

By the time he moved between my thighs we seemed to have found our stride. The sex was everything I needed it to be, hot and deep and leaving both of us exhausted enough to fall back asleep afterward without a lot of recriminations and regrets.

The next time I opened my eyes, the sun was peeking through the curtains. John was a warm presence on the other side of the bed, close enough for me to know he was there but too far to touch. I wondered what he would regret when he woke up and told myself I didn't really want to know.

Moving slow and carefully, I eased my way out of bed. Taking my scattered clothes I went into the bathroom to use the facilities and get dressed. John was still sleeping when I came out, and I figured the best thing I could do was let him sleep. Still moving as silently as possible, I picked up the key from the dresser and left the room.

The sun was barely over the horizon, the morning crisp and clear in a way I hadn't seen, or rather hadn't noticed, since well before my Caitlyn had died. I still felt the pain of her loss, the betrayal of my husband running back home to his parents, but for the first time since John had pulled me from that burning room I felt like I could breathe. Like everything was going to be all right, somehow.

A continental breakfast was laid out in the motel office, and I loaded a plate with bagels and muffins. Juggling two cups of coffee besides was difficult but not impossible. I walked across the parking lot toward the cabin I shared with a man who wasn't quite a stranger with hope in my heart.

-----------------------

John wasn't sure what woke him just after dawn. A noise maybe, or perhaps a sense that something wasn't right. He sat up with a knife in his hand to find that he was alone. The key was gone from the dresser, as were the scattering of Jordan's clothes and shoes from the floor. He dressed quickly, hoping that she'd just gone to the office for breakfast, that she hadn't left without a word, that something bad hadn't happened while he'd slept. When he left the cabin the first thing he saw was a scattering of muffins and bagels lying in a pool of coffee on the ground beside his truck. Five minutes later he knew it was the only sign of her he was ever going to find. Ten minutes later he was on the road, speeding away from the motel and doing his best to tell himself that he couldn't save everyone.


End file.
